


forevher

by lesbiagnes



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: F/F, Fluff, Mornings, and thats it, throw some french and metaphors in there and thats the fic, very short sorry kids
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-31
Updated: 2019-08-31
Packaged: 2020-10-04 07:27:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 704
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20467274
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lesbiagnes/pseuds/lesbiagnes
Summary: A soft morning with Agnes and Jude





	forevher

**Author's Note:**

> unbeta'd and barely proof read as always so lmk if there are any mistakes!!

Being loved by Agnes Montague was a dream. The kind of dream where you’re sprinting through an everlasting field of daisies and you stop momentarily to pick one up, and hand them to the person behind you. It doesn’t matter whether they resemble someone you know or love. All that matters is that they followed you to a field on the outskirts of every town or city, snuggled between life and a vast emptiness, and you have plucked a piece of nature from the earth, and presented it to them. Without choice, without question, and they take it.

Jude had stopped having that dream now she was living it. Now that she got to wake up next to Agnes every morning, and kiss those freckles that sprinkled on her face like miniature islands, and hear Agnes’ remarks about treating her “like a god”. She smiled every time she said that, and Jude was beginning to think she enjoyed being treated like an omnipotent being.

And this morning was no different than all the other ones.

Jude had woken up first, the sunlight streaming through the half open curtains and landing on her face. She’d rolled over from her position in Agnes’ arms so she could see Agnes properly, watch the way her auburn hair fell over her cheeks and spread across the pillow. She admired her – maybe it was true what everyone said, maybe she did think of Agnes as a god – freely staring at the smirk that passed over her while she slept, and the subtle movement of her eyebrows.

It had never been like this with anyone else. Then again, nobody looked like Agnes. Nobody looked like they’d just been ripped out of an oil painting and those smooth acres of paint had turned into skin, and hair. Nobody acted like Agnes either. Nobody could hold their ground and command a whole room of speakers into silence. She forced them to defy what they wanted the most, and when they fought back, she could bring them to their knees.

So maybe God didn’t stand a chance in comparison.

She watched as Agnes’ eyes opened, a ring of brown trapping a deep darkness. Call it cliché, but Jude knew everything about Agnes through her eyes. Even now, when neither of them spoke and they just stared at each other, it seemed like Agnes was sprawled out in front of her. Raw. Naked. Exposed. Jude had never been able to determine how much Agnes enjoyed being scrutinised. Maybe she enjoyed being treated like an otherworldly being; with respect and so much love that it poured out of the gaps in people’s joints and followed her wherever she went. Maybe she loved being treated like a human, being in _love_ like a human. 

None of this had been her choice. Not her mother’s death, not her induction into the cult, not her destiny. But this? Lying here, being here, having someone to hold her hand and remind her that she’s human enough to deserve this? That was Agnes’ choice, Jude was sure of that.

“Good morning, my love.”

Agnes said nothing back, which was common. Their mornings were mostly silent, with Agnes only responding with a slight shift in facial expression or squeezing her hand a little harder when they leave their house.

Jude had learnt to take note of the little things; like how Agnes’s eyebrow twitches when she’s about to yell, or how she tucks her hair behind her ears when others compliment her, or how her hands used to shake whenever she got dressed, as if the act made the day real and unavoidable.

Or now, when she grabbed Jude’s hand from where it’s resting on top of the sheets and holds it. Jude never asked why she does that every morning, instead she brings their interjoined hands to her mouth and kisses their fingers, not bothering to determine whose is whose. It was soft, and loving, and gentle, but, more importantly, it was real. Jude waited until Agnes’s emotions bubbled up to the surface, her eyes growing warmer and her whole facial expression calming, before speaking quietly into the semi-darkness.

“I love you, ma chérie.”

Agnes smiled. The daisy field grew.

**Author's Note:**

> im trying to make use of my gcse in french can u tell
> 
> follow me on twitter (@sylviatillys) and on tumblr (@ensigntilly) hehehe


End file.
